


we danced through infinity (and we never changed)

by natcat5



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gods, Mythology - Freeform, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, and eternity, infinite, the ultimate prize is...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natcat5/pseuds/natcat5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reality and worlds may shift and change,</p>
<p>but there are things that will always remain the same, </p>
<p>even for gods, whose forms are warped and rewritten countless times.</p>
<p>Because for all the different myths and legends,</p>
<p>there is still a single story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ‘The Stone Gods’ by Jeanette Winterson and ‘The Land of Dragons and Dungeons’ by celynBrum

There is a story,

that is told many ways,

and has many names,

and never changes,

but never stays the same.

 

 

It means different things to all who read it,

tragic and at the same time comedic.

Fantastical,

but painfully real.

 

 

A fairytale,

of a prince of knights of a witch

of a rogue of maids of a page

of a heir of seers of a sylph.

a bard

a mage.

 

 

But at its root,

it is a story of life

of love

in all its forms 

with all its characters.

And it is history,

but also a telling of the future,

and echoes strongly of the present.

A story made up of many stories,

all from the same journey,

the same life,

the same legend.

 

 

And if you listen,

you will hear truth,

and come to understand the worlds,

and all they offer,

and the constants that remain the same.

 

 

Because in reality,

there are just some things that never change. 


	2. The Heir and the Knight

“You don’t have to protect me,” whispers the boy with the blue eyes, on his hands and knees and looking down at the blonde-haired boy stretched out on the grass beneath him, “I can take care of myself you know.”

“I know,” says the other boy, his eyes shielded beneath black glass and his face an impassive mask, “But what else am I supposed to do?”

\--

 

Once upon a time, there was an heir, and a knight.

The Heir was the firstborn son of the King. His mother, the Queen, had passed away during his childbirth. He had a sister, but ill health had caused her to be sent away to warmer climates almost immediately, and the heir was essentially an only child.

He grew up alone in a castle, in times of peace and prosperity. He had everything a child could ask for. Every necessity and every pleasure. Every toy, every shirt, every animal and every pretty thing the world could offer. The heir wanted for nothing.

Except, of course, for companionship.

The Knight was from a noble, if somewhat diminished, family. He could expect to inherit lands, and a title, but respect did not follow his family name, and nothing but disdain and mild contempt greeted him upon entering the castle grounds for page training.

He was fast, and avoided problems like he avoided the clumsy sparring of his training partners. Supersmooth, letting his loneliness slide off of him like rainwater off of a roof.

The lonely Heir and the solitary Knight.

They met one day, two boys soft and young. Exchanged words, jokes, giggles. Continued to meet beneath trees and under tables. Behind tapestries and in hidden alcoves in the castle walls. In the barns and in the hallways and where no one could see them. Where their quiet whispering and loud bursts of laughter could go undisturbed. They forged a friendship stronger than the strongest steel, strongest armour, strongest knight strongest king.

And the friendship stayed through the boy’s page training, through the Heir’s growing responsibilities, through the boy’s time abroad as a squire, where nothing but letters of red and blue ink connected the two, and through to the boy’s return, where the Heir stood and watched proudly as his father lowered his staff onto his best friend’s shoulder.

And then the boy was a knight. The kingdom’s knight.

But really,

he was always

the Heir’s knight.

And he swore to protect the king, but he struggled to keep his eyes away from the prince at the king’s side. And he swore to uphold justice and the values of the kingdom, but he knew that he would follow the Heir to the gates of hell.

And really, it was only because the Heir was so stupid so much of the time. To the Knight, he would always be a skyblue boy full of dreams and wonder who needed to be protected so that he could fully realize all his hopes for the world.

Because he had never really planned on going through with being a knight, not really. He couldn’t see it working out. Him being a ‘hero’. It was not a foreseeable future for someone like him.

But his bright blue heir had taken his hand and 

told him

to

_fly._

And so even though the Knight believed he ws nowhere near the hero the Heir was clearly meant to be, he decided to try. And, at least, he would stay to protect the Heir, always, so that the Heir could grow, and be good, and be the hero that the Knight believed he was never meant to be.

The Knight rose with his new title, and he and the Heir shared a look, mutually recognized to mean that no matter what, they belonged to one another, and would stay together, always.

Then, there was war.

\--

 

“Stop trying to protect me all the time!”

Blink. Slow, cat-like head tilt. Blank-faced, like he doesn’t understand. John wants to punch his stupid face in.

“Don’t look at me like that!” he fumes shuffling forward to jab the other man in the chest with the handle of his hammer, “I see you in battle. All you do is watch me, or position yourself to throw yourself in front of me at a moment’s notice! And look where that’s gotten you!”

Dave doesn’t reply. The throb of his injured arm is insistent and constant, and he can feel the blood soaking through the bandages, and into his torn shirt. The new firearms that have sprung forth from the scientists in this vile war are deadly, and he counts himself lucky that the pellets they expel tore right through him and didn’t become lodged in his flesh.

He feels even luckier, even happier, that the shot hit him instead of its intended mark, no matter how angry John seems about the turn of events.

“I can protect myself,” John hisses, before pushing the bangs back from Dave’s sweat-slick forehead and worrying at his bottom lip while taking another look at the quick bandaging job.

And Dave wants to smirk, lift a hand and pat John on the cheek, but he doesn’t have the energy, and the action would be too condescending, even for their open relationship.

Because John? John has lived life with everything he’s ever needed served to him on a silver platter. He’s the heir to a rich corporation, and his father gave him everything he needed for the most spoiled childhood a kid could ask for. Even when the war started, and shit hit the fan, John was coddled.

First, his name protected him from being sent anywhere truly dangerous.

Then, the intervention of Sergeant ‘Dragon’ of the Scourge unit delayed his deployment.

Then, when he finally found himself on the battlefield, the infamous Lieutenant ‘Spider’ took him under her wing, and his every move was guided and protected by her.

But then she died, and the pampered and coddled heir was shipped off with the rest of them, with no one left to protect him or guide his path safely. There’s just Dave, a childhood friend he barely remembered before they found each other in the messy barracks, and that old feeling the blonde had had when they were just schoolboys, that feeling that his shitty excuse for a life would have some meaning to it if he could just keep this bright blue boy safe.

Because war is only good for two things: destruction, and heroism. Dave’s brother taught him that, and out here, in the smoke-blackened sky amidst the gunfire and the clang of swords, the youth can believe it. Destruction, and death, that’s what awaits the majority of the boys here. Their bodies will pave the road of peace, he knows. It’s the way of the world, and it can’t be avoided.

But the heroes, the heroes are the ones who will walk the road. Who will reclaim the world, and lead it into something brighter, something better.

Dave knows that he was meant to be pavement, and he’s okay with that. It’s a death for something better, and there’s a part of him that knows he would die a thousand deaths for the things he cared about.

But Dave knows that a death like that isn’t for John.

No, _his_ path is that of heroism. To bathe the ruined world in light once more. To bring hope, and to breathe life back into the ruins left behind by war. John may be spoiled, but there’s something so genuinely _good_ in him that Dave knows he could do marvelous things if given the chance.

John shouldn’t be here, in the mud, tightening bloodstained bandages. He’s an heir, not a prince. He’s meant to rule. But not to fight, not to die.

Not here.

Not like this.

A shout goes out, and it’s the squad leader calling for them to advance. John looks down at Dave’s bloodied form with dismay, but the blonde just grins crookedly, hefting himself upwards and leaning heavily on his sword while playfully shouldering his friend.

“We’re friends, asshole. ‘course I’m gonna protect you,” he says with a pained grin, ignoring the frustrated pout that John gives him in return. Dave just laughs, hobbling forward towards where the rest of their squad is gathering.

“Buy me a drink when the war’s over,” he says with a smirk, “And we’ll call it even.”

\--

 

The war is over, and you feel like you’ve lost.

You started out with something to prove, something to give, an assurance that you could make a difference and be instrumental in the victory of humanity over the forces of evil. The demons and witches that threatened to bring your world to ruin were no match for your mighty hammer and the abilities you were given as a child blessed by the wind gods.  

You are this war’s hero. The one who lead the human race to victory against the vicious dog-like demons with the black raven wings and the storms of green fire bellowing forth from their jaws. With the defeat of the great evil your name is on the lips of every person gather in celebration.  You have been pronounced the heir of the new kingdom that is springing forth from the ashes of the old, and tomorrow the high priestess will place a crown on your head, marking the beginning of a new era.

But you

You have lost something precious to you _._

Because before you were the saviour and the wind maker and the heir you were just another soldier fighting for freedom. But you had a friend, a young man like you, who always thought you could be something more. That you were destined for great things. And he was always by your side. Always joking and teasing but always protecting and fighting alongside you.

He used to say that you weren’t supposed to be a soldier. That you were supposed to be leading. He said that again and again, until you were at the front of the line. Until you were soaring above the troops and leading them into battle.

He was always there though. Always below you, watching with a smile. Waving his sword up at you or performing a rude gesture with his fingers.

He was always there.

And then he wasn’t.

You woke up early one morning to find him not at his usual place by your side.

The two of you, and a small number of others, had been on a mission to scope out the area, and discover the source of the poisonous black oil flooding the rivers. So far, you had had no luck, but the winds whispered of danger with every step you took, and you had been sure that today was the day that you would find the source.

But you awoke and your companion was not there.

Without waking any of the others, you had summoned the wind and used it to find the familiar pulse of his breathing. But when you found it, you had frozen up in horror.

Because something

Something was _wrong._

You had flown through the woods, deaf and blind to any potential danger, in the direction the wind told you your friend was. A feeling of foreboding filled you, and when you touched down in front of the opening of a large cave, you were close to throwing up.

Despite your hatred of undergound, enclosed spaces, you entered, because you knew, you _knew_ that he was down there.

When you found him, you almost weren’t surprised to see the blood, the grievous injuries, the barest movement of his chest in the dim light. You were more surprised at the fact that there had appeared to be two of him, though the second one was covered in feathers and had talons for fingers and was

not breathing at all.

Your stomach had lurched and you dropped to your knees, rolling the still-breathing one onto his back and ghosting your hand over his body, unprepared for dealing with such horrific wounds. Not sure if you even could. Feeling choked and trapped with your uselessness. Oh god his breathing is slowing he’s dying he’s dying in front of you.

You choked out his name in a sob, and his eyes had flickered open. Bright red as always. Brighter even then the blood oozing out from all over his body. They were unfocused, and took a few long seconds to find your face. When they did, his breath had hitched, his chest stuttering upwards, and the sound broke you out of your frozen state.

“What the fuck happened?!” you screamed out, grabbing one of his hands and clutching it, eyes flickering to the birdclone and then back to him. “What- what- why, why are you- what did you-,”

“Easy man,” he had said quietly, his voice a lazy drawl as always, though sounding more tired than you had ever heard it. More pained then you had ever heard it. “It’s all alright. I- _we_ took care of it. S’all good.”

“I don’t understand!” you yelled, panicking because you could _feel_ it, the strain of his lungs, the breath that was getting raspier, the life that was slipping away. And you couldn’t stop it and you _don’t know why this happened._

Silence fell, and he stared at you, like he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to answer your question, but then you felt his hand squeeze yours lightly, and he sighed. A painful sound, rattling his chest as his eyes flickered over to where his birdclone lay.

“Typheus,” he had rasped, his voice strained and quiet, “Was the one poisoning the rivers. The-The god of all monsters or somethin’. He ambushed us today, killed the entire squad-,”

“What?” you interrupted, brows knitted together, because no that didn’t make sense-

“Shoosh,” he had said curtly, giving you a tired look that shut you up and made you clutch at him with your other hand.

“He killed the entire squad,” he continued, face pinched and breathing laboured, “And you c-couldn’t do a fuckin’ thing. Had the- the same affinity you did. T-Typheus used t’be a wind god, ‘fore he fell to the evil. He-he sucked the wind right outta you. Took your powers away, then…then….then turned you to d-dust.”

Silence fell as he fought to regain his breath, and you had felt cold all over. Prickles and goosebumps, all along your skin.

_I died?_

_How….but then how…?_

“Bird me,” Dave had choked out, blood bubbling up past his lips, “T-turns out, I gotta time affinity. D-didn’t find out ‘til after you died…bird me came from the future…he was captured by Typheus, used as an experimental subject for him an’ his palhonchoes. Got sick wings as a result…managed to get strong enough to bust out…did Typh’ some serious damage…probably coulda killed him, but decided to go back in time an’ stop it all from happenin’. Make sure…make sure you didn’t die. He-”

He descended into painful coughing, and you had scooped him up, cradling him to your chest, and running your fingers through his blood-soaked hair.

“Shhh,” you had said, making soothing, comforting sounds as you tried to mask your confusion and panic, tried desperately to hold back your tears.

Dave had looked up at you, eyes glazing over, and seemed to stare at nothing for a few long seconds. Then he smiled, and his head had rolled to the side so that his face was pressed into your chest.

“Woke me up, t-told me we hadta hussle, get the jump on Typheus. Beat his ass ‘fore he could touch you,” he had mumbled, his eyes slipping close, “Figured we could do it ourselves. Two time users, can’t be beat. An’ we did. Fuckin’ piece a shit snake ain’t touchin’ you. You’re too important, things t’do, people to lead…wanna see you soar to the stars…you gotta…gotta make it t’the end of this…gotta win…it has to be you…it always had to be you…”

He was drifting, you were losing him, he was slipping away in your arms. You let out a choked sob and held him closer, burying your face in his hair.

“Don’t leave me,” you remember whispering, even though you knew you couldn’t stop him and that it was too late, “Please don’t! You can’t die!”

“People die in war, we’re s'pposed to,” he had murmured, and you remember feeling what you knew was the very last of his breaths rattle out of his chest as he smiled into your shirt.

“Just not people like you.”

\--

 

It is said that

Time is the great destroyer.

But

in truth

Time has always been the great protector.

And in every instance.

and every world.

It works closely

with the Breath.

With the endless Breeze that passes through all things

holds up all things

fills the lungs of all things.

 

 

The great Wind that pushes everything forward.

That pulls and pushes

endlessly.

And the Time

that wraps around the wind

and protects

so that the Wind can pull

and push

and soar

and fly

and lead the world

protected.

 

 

And it is not that

the Wind cannot protect itself.

It has never been that.

It is that

the Wind has better things to do.

It is that

the Wind has no time for self-preservation

in its endless quest to breathe joy and laughter and love into the world.

Into all the worlds.

 

 

And Time

too often slips through the cracks.

Is too often lost in minutes and seconds and years

in deeds left unsaid

because they did not happen

not really.

Not when Time is the rewind on the mistakes of reality.

When heroism and self-sacrifice are masked

because the horrible things that Time prevents

are prevented

and forgotten.

And Time

intangible and so easily lost

needs something to hold onto

needs to cling tight to something else and

be their sword

their shield

their armour

their knight.

_Remember me._

 

The Wind wraps tightly around the world,

Breathes and laughs,

pushes and pulls,

leads all to a brighter future.

And Time

wraps tightly around the Wind.

Fixes the mistakes that it does not see.

Guards against enemies it does not notice

and

is always

there.

 

 

Because Wind without Time

is improbable.

And Time without Wind

is unimaginable.

And as the world turns

So too, will they remain together.

\--

 

At the end of all things, fourteen gods stood together and fourteen gods emerged victorious against the chaotic lord.

At the end of all things, fourteen gods stepped forward to claim their prize.

At the end of all things, the Heir of Breath turned towards the Knight of Time and smiled.

At the end of all things, the Knight of Time smirked at the Heir of Breath and bumped their fists together.

And at the start of all things the Heir and the Knight and all the gods entered into the beginning of the new world and the new life and the new reality that they had woven.

And their story ended

and continued

and started

Forevermore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh. I feel icky with this because I feel like I mischaracterized Dave? But I’m placated by the fact that this is just how ‘the legends’ see him in conjunction with his relationship with John. Different parts of him are revealed depending on the legend that’s being told and who’s in it. And, well, when have myths ever gotten anything completely right anyways?
> 
> Also this is my funtime stress reliever fic so forgive me if it’s not up to my usual standards.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be updated sporadically.


End file.
